


Bedtime Stories

by fireweed15



Series: Pacific Pines [2]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Gen, Pacific Pines AU, let pacifica be happy 2k17, this is the first work i ever wrote for this au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-20 22:12:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11344131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireweed15/pseuds/fireweed15
Summary: "I realize you’re probably too old for ‘bedtime stories’”-- It was the first time Pacifica had ever seen anyone over the age of twenty-five use air quotes-- “but if you want, I can read.”





	Bedtime Stories

Her first clue should have been that she couldn’t smell the salt in the air, but when Pacifica sat up, her whole head felt like it was wrapped in cotton and breathing through her nose was–it wasn’t hard, it was _impossible_.  


 _Great_. 

She squinted at her alarm clock–the impossibly old-fashioned kind that needed winding. Nearly nine?! She swallowed hard (easier said than done, given the rawness of her throat) and started to push back the blankets. 

From outside, there was a pair of soft knocks. “ _May I come in?_ ” The voice outside was almost gravelly, but surprisingly soft–just one of a thousand and one differences between Stanford Pines, legal guardian, and Preston Northwest, biological father. 

“Yeah.” To her dismay, her voice was hoarse, the rasp not at all unlike his. 

The door clicked and swung open, and he poked his head inside. Pacifica was never quite certain what to call him. On the car ride home, easily one of the longest and most agonizing of her life, he’d said that “Stanford” or “Ford” would be fine; both felt a little too friendly for her tastes. “Mr. Pines” was reserved for his brother, who Pacifica knew only in the loosest sense of the word. “Dad” was _strictly_ out of the question, and probably always would be. 

Thankfully, he spoke first, eliminating the need to come up with an address. “Good morning,” he greeted, stepping inside. 

“Hi.” She was almost wary as she eyed the pockets of his ever-present coat-- was he going to scold because she was so late, and if so, what was his preferred style? She eyed his ever present coat, wondering if one of the deep pockets had that awful bell. 

“Can we expect you for breakfast this morning?” he asked, adjusting his glasses.

“I’m not hungry, she mumbled, turning her gaze to the wall. The idea was getting up and dressed and sitting through a meal was so _tiring_ … 

Despite being turned to the wall, she could sense a shift in his demeanor. “What’s the matter?” 

“Nothing.” She supposed the words would have more weight if she didn’t sound so _bad_. 

“You’re sure?” 

He said it in a way that Pacifica knew meant nothing, but she wasn’t willing to say for sure. It was hard to tell with someone she didn’t know all that well if he was asking simply to confirm, or he was giving her another chance to give the right answer. “I just don’t feel well,” she replied lightly. 

“How bad do you feel?” he asked. 

...How was she supposed to answer that? Truly? “A little, I guess,” she replied, shrugging one shoulder. 

Ford _hmm_ -ed thoughtfully before standing and moving to sit on the edge of the low bunk. “If I may--” He laid the back of his hand on her forehead, his expression almost thoughtful. 

Pacifica remained still. In the silence, the boat creaked and wind could be heard from above deck, but precious little else, and it was Ford who broke the silence. “More than a little,” he announced, withdrawing his hand and standing. “I’ll be back.” 

Without waiting for a reply, he stepped out again, leaving her door slightly ajar-- and Pacifica vaguely confused. She could have told him she felt bad on her own-- but more importantly, how was he going to deal with it? It’s not like they could drop anchor in the middle of the north Pacific and pick up anything to make her feel any better. 

She could hear his footsteps from down the hall, a cabinet opening and closing. He returned a few minutes later, a paper cup and bottle of aspirin in hand and a book tucked under one arm. “Here.” He offered the cup and aspirin to her. 

She accepted both and swallowed the pill, setting the half drank water on the end table. A thought suddenly occurred to her-- “You’re still here.” 

The remark almost caught Ford off-guard as he sat down once more, transferring the book under his arm to balance on his knee. “I can leave if you want,” he offered. “I thought you’d rather be sick with company.” 

Now it was Pacifica’s turn to be caught off guard. He wanted to… keep her company? She supposed that was something some parents did for their kids-- but she wasn’t sure what they were to each other. “Sure,” she finally replied, if only for lack of options that wouldn’t, for whatever reason, hurt his feelings. “If you don’t have to do… whatever. Boat stuff.” 

“No boat stuff,” he confirmed, nodding once. “Stanley is more than capable. In the meantime, I realize you’re probably too old for ‘bedtime stories’”-- It was the first time Pacifica had ever seen anyone over the age of twenty-five use air quotes-- “but if you want, I can read.” He laid a hand on the book. 

She wasn’t ready to admit that bedtime stories were an entirely foreign concept-- and she doubted she ever would. “That sounds nice, yeah,” she replied, shifting to lie back down, her back to Ford. “Don’t take this too personal-- this is how I sleep, okay?” 

“Not at all.” There was a quiet rustle as he opened the book and found the beginning. “ _Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much…._ ”  



End file.
